


cough it out

by armyofbees



Category: Undrafted (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27560305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: “So,” Dells says, “odds on Murr?”Maz’s mouth twitches. “Yeah, sure.”“I’m being serious.”Maz turns to look. Well — “Yeah, you are.”
Relationships: John Mazzello/Johnathan Dellamonica/Pat Murray





	cough it out

**Author's Note:**

> as my beta reader put it, this is just 'three pages of inscrutable vibes.'
> 
> i don't know anything about baseball, so don't think too hard about anything i say.
> 
> title is from [Cough It Out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_n-8iPfI-o4) by The Front Bottoms, which doesn't actually have much to do with the fic, but i thought it was fitting.

“So,” Dells says, “odds on Murr?”

Maz’s mouth twitches. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m being serious.”

Maz turns to look. Well — “Yeah, you are.”

The thing is, Pat Murray isn’t so difficult to figure out, once you watch him play. And Christ, has Maz watched him play. Watched him flail and rage and make beautiful catches. Watched him strike out, and strike out, and strike out. Watched him, inexplicably, get so angry on — what, on Maz’s behalf? that he pitched a fastball straight at Zapata’s head.

So Maz can figure out a thing or two. And apparently, so can Dells.

Pat is currently sitting with Zapata, where he has been all night, plastered to his side since they all flooded the field. Maz is dubious about this because of the fastball thing, but Zapata seems happy enough.

So does Pat. He’s positively beaming, which isn’t necessarily usual. Well, Maz thinks, still watching him, he could always be happier.

“So?” says Dells.

Maz shrugs. If there were ever a night to fucking do it. “Go for it.”

Dells snorts a laugh. “No, dude. Absolutely not. This one’s on you.”

Maz purses his lips, but that’s probably fair. Anyway, Ty got arrested tonight, so Dells deserves a break.

Maz doesn’t really get like Dells does about this, not smooth or flirty or any less stone-faced. But he levers himself up and goes to stand in front of Pat and Zapata, where they’re squished together on the Dellamonicas’ couch.

“Murray,” he says, even though Pat’s been looking at him since he stood up. Pat blinks. “That was a nice hit tonight.”

Pat is holding a beer in one hand, which means he’s finally loose enough to laugh. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Maz.”

Maz allows himself a minute to look, and he clocks the moment when Pat starts to wonder what the fuck is going on. Pat has nice eyes, and decent hair, and a face that’s built to be screaming at something. Or laughing, maybe. Right now, neck craned up to meet Maz’s eyes, sweaty and flushed and still in his disgusting undershirt, he looks strangely delicate.

Maz sticks a hand out. “Come on.”

Pat shakes his head, but he takes the hand and lets Maz pull him up. Zapata waves him off when he tries to apologize, but Maz is already pulling them out of the living room, toward the stairs. He doesn’t have to check to make sure that Dells is following them.

“So, um,” Pat tries once they’re in the hallway, literal feet from Dells’ room.

Maz bites back a sigh, tugs on Pat’s hand where he’s still holding it, but Pat isn’t budging. Maz turns to give him a flat look, but Pat seems unaffected.

“Was this —” Pat flounders for a moment, flushing further. “What did you —”

And frankly, this is just painful. Maz gives Pat’s hand another tug, and this time he goes. Maz doesn’t pull him into the room, though, just gets him up against his chest and leans down to kiss him.

It’s not a particularly nice kiss. Maz is too businesslike for nice, is how Dells once described him, and the first time they kissed, Dells had pulled back, blinking with surprise.

“Dude,” he’d said, and then he’d reached out and dug two knuckles into the front of Maz’s teeth, like a mockery of a punch.

Now, Pat doesn’t seem to mind, just meets Maz halfway. Maz sinks his teeth into Pat’s lower lip, and Pat presses forward until it’s not a kiss as much as an act of desperation.

When they break apart, Maz’s face burning, he opens his eyes to see Dells leaning against the wall by the landing. He looks focused, like he does on the mound, like he did those frightening last few pitches when Maz could feel every swing of the bat like a breath punched out of him.

Pat turns to look, and he blanches, like Maz thought he might. “So you’re — uh.”

Dells shrugs. “Sure. That was a good hit, though.”

“It was a good game,” Pat says, automatic, and it’s true. It’s very possible that nothing will even come close to that ever again. Maz hasn’t made his mind up on that one, yet.

Dells smiles, like Pat said something charming. “Thanks.” Then he puts one hand on Pat’s jaw and leans in to kiss him, too. This one is briefer, perfunctory. Dells really didn’t choose Pat for himself, Maz thinks.

“So how about it?” Dells says.

Pat, looking like he has only half an idea of what he’s about to get himself into, says, “Yes.”

And Maz thinks, watching Pat look up at Dells like he’s someone to be in awe of, that there was really never any chance he was going to say no.

Things happen kind of quickly after that. Maz is dialed in, and he’s a little buzzed, and Dells lets Pat go back to kissing Maz while he herds them back through the doorway and onto the bed, so it takes him a second to realize that while he and Pat are still fully clothed, Dells has lost his shirt and pants.

Maz puts a hand on Pat’s chest and squints, because Dells is still wearing socks, for some reason. Maz risks a smile.

“See something you like?” asks Dells.

Maz looks down pointedly, skipping the obvious. “Your socks?”

Dells laughs, and it’s like something lightens. Not that anything had been very heavy, or obtrusive — they’re all too happy for that. But Maz can feel it, the way Pat keeps coming back to him, the way he kissed Dells like he knew it was part of the deal, but not like it meant much more. And Maz likes this well enough, but he likes Dells more.

Dells gives Maz a kiss, nudging him back toward Pat. “Your night, babe.” And then, easily, “Take his shirt off.”

Maz can see Pat’s eyes widening, but he had to know. This was always how it was going to go. Still. “Okay?” Maz asks.

“Yeah,” Pat says, and he doesn’t sound surprised. He sounds breathless.

It goes on like that. “Pants. Lie back. Let him get you. Murr, he likes — yeah. Yeah.”

After, Maz stares up at the ceiling and thinks about ending up on third at the end of the game. That’s just how games end, he figures. You finish the play. He ends up on third — not on home, not where everyone else is clinging to each other like they just won the World fucking Series. And he waits for everyone else to come to him.

Lying like this, Maz has his head on a pillow, but his arm is resting across Dells’ stomach, and on his other side, Pat has put a careful few inches between them, insofar as he’s able to with the three of them squished together on Dells’ queen.

There’s something to be said about going for broke, not bothering, just finishing out the circuit. Making it home. But the rules dictate — and Maz’s own inhibitions dictate —

And Maz stays on third, waiting.

In the end, neither he nor Dells says a word when Pat gets up, pulls his clothes back on, and closes the door behind himself with a near-silent click.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, feel free to drop a comment or come by my [tumblr](https://townhulls.tumblr.com/) to say hi!


End file.
